"It seems there's no chance of heading back leisurely today."

Moen, who was heading towards the dormitory, suddenly halted and looked around.

Birds flew across the sky.

Bare tree branches swayed in the northern wind.

The surroundings were quiet.

But amidst this quietness, things suddenly seemed to grow lively without warning.

Figures began appearing at the corners of his vision, silently casting him strange gazes filled with unclear intent.

"So quick to act..."

Moen's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the few oddly shaped birds flying in the winter sunshine.

"That senior from the news club, Mingot, is really impatient."

"My apologies."

Beside him, Senior Fannie also sighed helplessly, saying,

"I'm afraid I can't escort you all the way to the dormitory, Moen."

"No, thank you anyway, Senior Fannie."

Moen turned around, giving Senior Fannie a smile of gratitude.

"There's really no need for that."

Moen understood her intention in walking with him.

It was likely to use her status as the top student of the third year to ward off those looking for a challenge to Moen.

Since it was a matter of issuing challenges, there was an obvious loophole to exploit:

—Moen can simply refuse, or hide away to avoid the challenge altogether.

Thus, Fannie's plan was to escort Moen into the dormitory, so he could stay holed up inside until the departure day. Naturally, nothing would then happen because the academy would never allow fights to take place in the dormitories under any circumstances.

However, Fannie wasn't the only one who thought of this.

"Moen Campbell, I thought you went to the office just for crying and begging Professor Pulan to take back his words."

Not far ahead of Moen, a man emerged slowly from the shadows.

His physique was much sturdier than the average student, and the tautness of his uniform clearly outlined his powerful muscles.

Beneath his steady-looking face was a prominent beard resembling a lion's mane, making him appear much older than his peers.

"Lion! Orzel!"

Fannie's expression suddenly grew serious.

"You, too, want to get involved in this matter?"

"Of course. As a devout believer of the Goddess, how could I miss the opportunity to embark on a pilgrimage to the Holy City?"

Orzel took out a petite statue of a Goddess, briefly touched it to his forehead, quietly muttered something, and then carefully tucked the statue away.

His intense gaze swept past Fannie, sinking slightly before landing on Moen.

"What now? Unable to beg from the professor, you've chosen to hide behind a woman? You never disappoint, Moen Campbell."

"Hmm?"

Moen didn’t seem to care about Orzel’s taunts. He glanced at Orzel’s beard and couldn’t help raising his eyebrows slightly.

This title and this look...

It somehow felt a bit like being taken advantage of, enough to cause some mild irritation.

"Orzel, bullying a second-year student as a third-year? How impressive! Why don't you try picking on me..."

Before Fannie could finish, Moen suddenly stepped forward, blocking her by standing in front of her.

"It’s alright, Fannie."

Moen turned back and smiled at her.

"Thanks for your help, but please trust me—I can handle this."

"You..."

Fannie's words faltered.

Truth be told, she was also among those who doubted Moen could face and survive this ordeal alone—otherwise, she wouldn't have specifically come over to help him.

But then again, recalling the miracles he had created before...

"Alright,"

Fannie sighed deeply and retreated a few steps.

"But be careful. This Lion, Orzel, is no pushover. His strength ranks within the top five of third-years, and he's infamous for his ruthless moves and vicious style. I've suffered plenty at his hands—whatever you do, don’t confront him head-on…"

"I understand."

"Ah, you…"

Seeing Moen’s nonchalant expression, Fannie couldn't help but sigh again.

No matter what, he shouldn’t take this lightly.

"Finally done hiding behind a woman?"

Seeing Moen step forward, Orzel flexed his muscular frame and revealed a cruel grin.

"It might thrill me to challenge a duke's son, but I advise you—just relinquish this chance voluntarily!"

"Oh?"

Moen asked,

"And why is that?"

"Ha, can't tell if you're truly clueless or just pretending. Do you think you'll leave here unscathed if you don’t give up your chance? I'm only your first hurdle!"

Orzel sidestepped slightly, exposing the silhouettes of restless individuals behind him.

"Luns!"

"Bronkey!"

"Doranmus!"

Fannie’s grave exclamations rang out in Moen’s ears one after another.

"You all came, too?!"

Fannie's unease was justified.

She might be the third year's top student, but precisely because of this, she understood how troublesome these people were.

All were outstanding third-year figures, harboring significant affiliations—while they might not rival Moen’s background, they nonetheless hailed from families of notable nobility.

An entire year of experience added to their advantage, and except for rare anomalies like Ariel Bugard, it wasn’t easy to erase such a gap.

This was especially true for Moen Campbell, who had been the year’s bottom ranker just last semester.

"Quite the lively gathering, indeed."

Moen scanned the predatory expressions of those eying him like wolves stalking their prey, maintaining his casual demeanor.

"And moreover..."

Moen’s gaze swept around the surroundings before clicking his tongue.

The crowd of spectators was overwhelming.

Were they all this keen on watching him get humiliated?

What a pity—I wasn’t skilled at showboating.

Otherwise, this would be a prime stage for his theatrics.

With that thought, Moen took a step forward toward the challenging Orzel.

...

...

"Oh, is it starting?"

Inside the news club’s classroom, Mingot waved his hands in excitement as he observed events unfold clearly through the birds’ eyes.

"I didn’t expect things to kick off with a boss-level hell difficulty right from the start! What should I title the article? Crisis! The Duke's son faces the new generation's lion head-on?

No, no, save the article for later—for now, the priority is opening a betting pool! Let's bet... how many moves Moen Campbell can survive against Orzel!

Haha, I’m definitely going to earn a fortune this time!"

...

"Wow, so lively right after returning to school?"

Standing by the hallway window, Weier observed the confrontation from afar with evident schadenfreude.

"That Lion, Orzel—I’ve heard about him, too. Moen Campbell is really in for a rough time this round, don’t you think, President?"

"..."

Beside her, Celicia remained expressionless, her cold gaze locked firmly on Moen's figure without uttering a word.

...

"Damn it! That guy Orzel beat me to it!"

In frustration, Luns punched a nearby wall, growling.

"That muscle-head is sharp only when it comes to moments like this!"

"Get ready to intercept Orzel. Knowing his nature, he might beat Moen Campbell and immediately hide somewhere, denying us the opportunity to challenge him."

Bronkey quietly adjusted his position, already preparing to block Orzel's escape.

"It’s fine; we have seven full days remaining—he won’t be able to hide for that long."

Doranmus appeared more composed but refrained from glancing at Moen at all. Instead, his focus subtly shifted to the people around him, adding knowingly,

"While the mantis stalks the cicada, the yellow sparrow waits in ambush. In this game, the real winner is whoever laughs till the end."

...

"Choosing to attack directly, huh?"

Watching Moen approach him step by step, Orzel’s lips curled into a smirk.

This guy was even more reckless than he had imagined.

Compared to that legendary Lion King, they were worlds apart.

Orzel’s mind flashed back to his first meeting with that Lion King—towering, majestic, with an overwhelming aura of power in his gaze, capable of quelling anything into dust with pure pride and authority.

How different from this Moen Campbell standing before him—handsome, yes, but utterly useless beyond that.

Fortunately, Moen Campbell wasn’t like the Lion King.

As Father once said, Belland… no, Glory’s Bloodlines would never allow the emergence of a second Lion King!

The kind of Lion King who could command masses with his name alone, making those of lower, vile bloodlines willingly submit to him!

So...

Even if the rumors said Moen Campbell had turned over a new leaf—even if people claimed he was now working hard and striving forward...

I will never allow it.

I will utterly, completely, and mercilessly destroy Moen Campbell in front of everyone.

I'll make him cry, make him suffer, make him kneel before me pleading for mercy. I'll ruin him utterly, again and again, dragging him back into the dirt where he belongs.

Never to rise again!

With each step Moen took closer, Orzel's grin grew more ferocious.

Alright, now... what kind of methods would create the most dramatic impact here?

Ah—yes, starting by letting Moen make the first move.

Only then could the true difference in power be displayed clearly—only then could Moen Campbell be plunged into true despair, making sure everyone realized he was still the pathetic weakling he’d always been.

Perfect. That's the plan.

Orzel stood tense, every muscle primed with latent strength.

Moments like these demanded no mercy—he would let Moen Campbell strike first, then obliterate him with overwhelming force to showcase this gap in ability to the audience.

Come on, Moen Campbell!

The thought of this thrilled Orzel—he stared intently at Moen, at his steady approaching steps, at his casually hanging arms.

Come on, come on!

Let me see the kind of offensive you’ll attempt—huh?

Orzel froze suddenly.

Because Moen hadn’t initiated any attack.

He simply stepped closer and closer, then... brushed past him.

Hmm?

What on earth?

He’s not going to make the first strike?

...

“Let’s go.”

Celicia suddenly lost interest in watching and turned away.

“Huh? Huh? Hey!”

Behind her, Weier gasped in surprise.

“President, aren’t you going to watch till the end?”

“Watch till the end?”

Celicia’s gaze flickered slightly as she replied,

“It’s already over.”

...

“Wait, Moen Campbell, are you planning to run away?”

Orzer glared at Moen’s retreating figure, yelling angrily,

“So, you don’t even care about the reputation of the Campbell family…”

“Run away?”

Moen turned back with a puzzled expression,

“When have I ever run away?”

“You didn’t even dare to make a move. If that’s not fleeing, what is?”

“Make a move?”

The corner of Moen’s lips curved upward into a mocking smile as he said,

“I’ve already made a move. And you... didn’t notice?”

Huh?

Orzer froze.

Already made a move?

Impossible. Nothing happened—

In an instant, Orzer felt an icy chill engulf him.

It was as if he had first been scorched by blazing sunlight and then cast into a freezing tundra. Shivering violently, he stiffly lowered his head.

With eyes filled with terror and disbelief, he stared at his once proud, handsome, iconic... lush beard. Strand by strand, it was drifting to the ground, like autumn leaves wilting from a tree.

“I have nothing against beards,” Moen began gently, the playful tone in his silky voice unmistakable,

“But I hate the beard on your face... and I hate your title, ‘The Lion.’”

“You don’t deserve it.”

Toying with the pristine white blade that had somehow appeared in his hand, Moen continued with elegant softness,

“From now on, I’ll call you Mr. Bald Cat. Any objections?”

“I...”

Feeling the suffocating chill emanating from his own throat, chill strong enough to kill him a hundred times over, Orzer crumpled to the ground. Filthy liquid, dark and foul, began seeping from his lower body.

“Good. It seems there are no objections.”

“Since that’s the case...”

Moen turned around once more, shifting his attention to the horrified crowd—yellow sparrows—too shocked by this incomprehensible scene to even make a sound.

With an impeccable aristocratic smile, he calmly said,

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m in a bit of a hurry. If you don’t mind, you can all come at me together.”